“Could be the guilt.”
She whirls around, teeth clenched tight. “There’s nothing to feel guilty about. He’s just my brother’s friend.”
“He called youAnnie,” I seethe. “A pet name. Do you realize how fucked that is?”
She falters for a beat, the statement registering, taking her off guard. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“No? I saw the way he was looking at you. I was watching him all night.”
“I have no control over the way someonelooksat me. If I did, I’d be a hell of a lot happier in this relationship.”
Her words hit hard. Stop me in my tracks. “You’re not happy?”
Some people might say that should be obvious based on her forty-eight hour departure last week. Her request for a “break.” But that was just a bump in the road. It’s always been us, Alex and Annalise, best friends from day one. High school sweethearts.
Soulmates.
I was there when she fell off her bike in second grade, scraping her knee so bad she swore she’d never ride again. I sat beside her on the sidewalk, pressingmy Captain America Band-Aid over the cut and promising I’d hold on to the seat until she felt confident again.
She was back on her bike by the next afternoon.
I was there in seventh grade when she got braces and refused to smile for an entire month. I made it my mission to change that, cracking the dumbest jokes I could think of until she finally caved. The first time she really smiled, she smacked my arm and called me an idiot.
But she kept smiling after that.
I was there the night of our junior prom, when her dress zipper broke ten minutes before we were supposed to leave. She was near tears, convinced the night was ruined, but I found a safety pin in my mom’s office and fixed it. I told her she was the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen. She laughed and called me a liar.
I wasn’t.
I was also there when she needed driving lessons. When she stalled at that stop sign and I lost it. I screamed until she cried, and she jerked the wheel and sent us spinning into a tree. She shattered the fender. I cracked my head. Blood everywhere. She begged me not to hate her, and I didn’t. I forgave her. I stayed. Unlike my shitty parents, who ditched me to sip wine on some sun-drenched piazza in Rome and never looked back.
When everything else in my life fell apart, I stayed. If that couldn’t break us, nothing will. I can’t lose her now.
Her eyes shimmer with frustration, with pain. “Alex…”
I shake my head. “You can’t mean that.” My voice is quieter, almost desperate. “Not after everything.”
This is just a phase. A temporary snag in the long-term plan.
What do they call it? The “Seven Year Itch”? That’s all this is. It’s fucking psychology. We’re literally in our seventh year of dating.
“Annalise, come on. We’ll get through this. We always do.”
“I just…I don’t know if love is supposed to feel like this,” she says, breath shuddering.
The room skews, my stomach hollowing out. “Like what?”
Her gaze flicks to the floor. “Like drowning.”
The waves roll back in.
There’s a sharp snap in my brain, like an electrical current. I can’t stop it. Can’t fight it. The beast inside me claws its way up, hungry, restless, desperate to prove something.
Heart pounding, I advance on her. My eyes skim down her body, her full breasts, curvy hips, long, toned legs. She’s a work of art.
She’smywork of art.
My arms fly out and yank her to me by the hips. A breath leaves her in a sudden whoosh when our chests collide. I grip her cheeks, pressing our foreheads together. “You said I could have you tonight.”
